In the Stars
by Almedha
Summary: The characters of Star Trek 09 living in an alternate universe of Skyrim. This is entirely for fun and maybe some dramatics. But mostly fun.
1. Meant for Something

_Just havin' a little funnnn. And by that I mean A LOT OF FUN. Seriously. I just pounded in all the Star Trek and Skyrim quotes I could and called it good. Star Trek is Paramount's and Skyrim is Bethesda's._

_Reviews are greatly appreciated, but this will likely be continued without them (I'm planning to update every Friday...). Because I haven't had this much fun writing in... well, maybe a few days. But seriously, this isn't meant to be serious. So if you can think of a way to make it more fun (Can someone steal Spock's sweetroll?), drop me a message and I will be more than happy to try to include it in future chapters! Also, sorry if I get some Skyrim details/lore mixed up. The Elder Scrolls world is ENORMOUS and I did my best..._

_Oh, but there is a plot. And this is actually going somewhere. __Somewhere fun, hopefully._

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**Chapter One : Meant for Something**

A year in the Whiterun guard, and this his first dragon. They had been ravaging his country for years, now, for as long as he had been alive… Almost exactly as long as that, actually. James wrung the grip of his sword in his hands and watched the dragon twirl and come about for another pass, even though his vision was foggy and his head was light from blood loss. But he couldn't take even a moment to assess the wounds he'd received. One of them was a dragon bite.

"Gods!" one of the Whiterun guards cursed, and dashed for cover behind a broken wall of the fortress they were attempting to defend. "This is a big one! James!" James ran to follow him, his Whiterun leathers slapping and clanging as he jumped over a low retaining wall that once surrounded the now fallen heap of rubble that was once a watchtower.

James slammed his back against the stone wall and listened to the dragon screech. "Haven't you guys faced a dragon before?" he asked the Whiterun guards gathered there. Whiterun was in the near-center of Skyrim, in the shadow of one of the tallest mountains that was a perfect hiding place for many small dragons. James assumed they might have faced more dragons than any other hold or village in the land.

Instead of an encouraging nod or words to the effect that, yes, they had faced dragons before, they Whiterun guard exchanged glances with one another, wide Nord blue eyes. "Yeah," one of them finally said, and the others nodded in dumb agreement. "Yeah, we have."

"Well, how did you defeat it?" James asked.

"Dumb luck."

"Dumb luck…" James breathed, laughing ever so slightly to himself. He seemed to have plenty of that.

"Here it comes again!" one of the guards screamed before James could follow that train of thought to its conclusion. Maybe it was good he hadn't, or he might not have even had the thought to jump from behind cover and run out into the open field to face the dragon.

"James!" one of the guards shouted at him, but James didn't stop to answer. All he could hear was the furious screech of the dragon, the scream of a guard being snapped up in its powerful jaws, and the pullback of a bowstring somewhere to his left. "What are you doing? James!"

As soon as the dragon had finished up with the guard before it, it turned its black glassy eyes on James, chest heaving as it drew in a breath. James picked up his shield to cover his face just before he was engulfed in the fiery inferno of dragon's breath. His round shield, of Nordic make, only covered his face and half of his torso from the frontal onslaught of flame. James wished he was a mage of some sort right then, a wish he'd never made before, as flame snaked around his legs and arms, singeing and burning.

The dragon seemed surprised when James actually reached him, growling in its throat and taking another breath.

James had to admit that he was surprised, too. But he had come here, endured the breath of the dragon and the possibility of its teeth and claws, for one reason only: to kill it. He could feel his strength quickly giving way beneath him and his short sword slowly slipping from his grip, but he held onto it. Even if just for a bit longer.

"What are you doing?" one of the Whiterun guards shouted at him again, loosing an arrow at the dragon's wing webbing before drawing his own sword from his belt and rushing toward the landed dragon. "Get back!"

_Not a chance…_ James thought. Not since he was practically here.

He shed his shield and scrambled up the dragon's nose, finding himself eye-to-eye with the massive creature. It growled and seemed to be speaking to him with just a look. _Even if you kill me, I will come back_. It was true: dragons were impossible to kill. A dead dragon would only come back to life at the shout of another powerful dragon. Skyrim was doomed. This dragon would return to destroy Whiterun and all in it, and James would have done all of this for nothing…

"But Whiterun will live another day!" James told it, lifting his sword and plunging it into the dragon's skull.

The dragon quivered and whipped its head from side to side for a moment, James holding on for dear life even though he was sure it was probably over anyway. He looked at his arms, burnt, the lower edges of his yellow Whiterun uniform, reduced to blackened slag. He dared look no further.

The dragon managed to throw James and his sword from his head, but a moment later collapsed into the waving grass just as the sky turned pink with the sunset. James pulled himself up just in time to see the dragon's scales fall away into ashes, the thing engulfed in a swirling whiteness that seemed a mirror to the sun itself. The ribbons of light rushed around the meadow like a living thing, encompassing him and the dragon in its bright white tendrils.

The Whiterun guards stood at a distance, cursing, but watching. James looked around, like they were, but he wasn't sure what he was seeing. Just as the dragon was nothing more than a skeleton lying in the field, the light seemed to swirl around and through him…

James dropped to his knees, his sword slipping from his fingers, as he keeled over into the soft grass. The Whiterun guard gathered around him, whispering. He couldn't be sure, since he was seeing nothing clearly, feeling nothing real… but he thought he heard one of them whisper… Or perhaps it was a shout. _Dovahkiin_.

...

He awoke to the feeling of a hard stone surface of beneath his back and the sound of running water in his ears. He blinked at the ceiling and then turned his head… The Temple of Kynareth? "Bones?" he whispered.

One of the resident priests, a skilled healer without a single social grace to his name, which James didn't know, whipped around from another wounded man on a stone table not far away and half-grinned. "Good, you're awake." He tucked a tome of healing into his blue sash and crossed over the shallow bridge in the pool until he was standing beside him, inspecting his wounds and looking at his legs. James was afraid to look… he was certain they were pretty bad, though. "Heard you ran your sword through a dragon's head. I guess you're none the worse for wear for that…"

James chuckled weakly as he watched Bones pull out his healing tome again and flip through it. "I thought I was dead," he admitted. "There was this… swirling white light."

"Huh," Bones grunted. "I would just as soon assume I couldn't see death coming."

Bones finished by slamming his book shut and looked straight into James's eyes searchingly. Bones was a Nord, and had the light brown hair and ice-blue eyes to prove it. James had similar eyes himself and sunny lank hair, being half-Nord. But he was also half-Imperial, and even though he didn't have any of the physical characteristics of an Imperial, he did have a name thanks to them. James Tiberius Kirk, his middle name a diminutive for an ancient Emperor long passed.

"Besides," Bones went on, "the guards saw it, too."

"They did?"

"I want you to stay here another day," Bones said, not bothering to answer James's question, not even looking at him anymore. "You hear that Farengar?"

"I wouldn't want to irritate our dearest healer," the court wizard said sarcastically from his seat to James's left. James turned his head to look at him. He was a shady-looking person, James had always thought. But he had been loyal to the Jarl Balgruuf for longer than James could remember and if the Jarl trusted him, then so did James. "I suppose our purposes can wait. We don't want to send out a half-dead guard to duty, do we?" Farengar slipped up from his seat like a moon on the rise.

Bones shrugged and pulled at a string of finger bones that wrapped around his waist—where he had received his sobriquet. James had found that it was a sort of nervous habit of his. Bones might have been the most-skilled healer in all of Whiterun Hold and much of the surrounding countryside, but, like other mages in the area, he answered to Farengar in skill and hierarchy… As if mages had any, James scoffed within.

"To duty?" James repeated. "What sort of task would… the _Jarl_ have for me?"

"Don't get so excited," Farengar warned. "It's a task for me."

_Same, same…_ James thought, but didn't voice that thought. The question still begged to be asked: "Why would the Jarl's house want to hire _me_ specifically?" Farengar looked at him, amused, as though to say he hadn't wanted James on his task specifically. "If you're willing to wait for me," James pointed out. "And why else would you be here? Unless you wanted _Bones_ to do something for you," he added with a smile.

Farengar sighed at even the implication. It was fairly well-known that the rivalry between Farengar and Bones was almost as much a blood-feud as that between the Greymanes and the Battle-Borns. "Good point. Perhaps I'll leave that to our priest of Kynareth to explain. I'm needed back at Dragonsreach. You'll tell me if there is any change?"

Bones just grunted at that, which Farengar apparently took for a "yes," and left the temple.

James looked at Bones, about to ask him what he knew of Farengar's task, when Bones interrupted. "I want to show you something, Jim."

"All right…" James sighed, and waited while Bones moved off over the bridge to the side of the temple and through a door. Bones and the other two priests lived back there, Bones senior of them. James couldn't imagine what was back there that he would want to show him.

While Bones was gone, James worked himself up onto his elbows and took stock of his remaining limbs. Miraculously, they were all there, underneath the blue-white robe he was wearing. His legs, though, looked slightly… charred. Like burnt wood. He sighed and laid back, hoping that Bones' healing abilities went beyond simple bites and scratches.

Bones returned with the familiar yellow uniform of the Whiterun guard, except this one was so burnt and torn up it was only barely recognizable. James stared at it and recognized it as his own. Well… he wouldn't be wearing _that_ again. "Is that…?" he started, but Bones wouldn't let him finish.

"I'm as surprised as you are that you survived this," Bones admitted. "You'll be fine in another day or two. Or five," he added. "But I don't think Farengar's errand is as urgent as he's making it out to be. You killed a dragon, Jim. And it hasn't come back, yet."

Maybe the other dragons were just busy… James sighed and smiled.

Bones grinned. "What?"

"Just killed my first dragon," James said with a slight shrug. "Can I get up?"

"If you feel like it," Bones answered. "Just don't try to run or anything stupid like that. And I've given you a potion to kill the pain. It's at work on your wounds right now."

James looked down at his arm, where he remembered the dragon's teeth raking through his flesh, and saw that it was mostly healed now. There was just a pair of scars, running from his shoulder almost to his elbow. "I'll have to thank Arcadia, won't I?" James asked with a grin, leaving it to Bones' creative imagination just how he might do that.

Bones snorted in amusement and turned away with an obvious roll of his eyes. "Yeah, Jim, you do that."

Bones went back to the other wounded guard, who slept under the influence of a spell, and Jim stared up at the ceiling for a moment before sitting and testing the strength in his legs. He put his bare feet flat on the stone floor and wiggled his toes on it. They seemed fine anyway… He carefully stood from the stone bed he had been lying on since the dragon—_Dovahkiin_, he remembered. He didn't know what that meant, but it seemed familiar… a story somewhere on the edges of memory.

"Bones?" Bones answered with a grunt again. "Have you ever heard the term _dovahkiin_?"

He laughed. "Of course. It means 'Dragonborn.' A story near and dear to the Nord heart. The Dragon-Slayer. I'm sure you've heard the tales."

James nodded slightly. His mother was an Imperial, his father a Nord. Since his father had died when he was very young, he hadn't heard much in the way of Nordic tales except those that the bards in inns usually sang, like Ragnar the Red and such. "I only barely recognize it." He looked up from his feet and nearly fell over backwards with a gasp.

"Jim, what is it?" Bones demanded, whirling around.

"Don't you—don't you—?" James asked, waving a hand in front of him. There, in the corner, in an aura of swirling blue, stood a strange man he'd never seen before. James couldn't see much of his face, since it was obscured by an off-white hood, but he could see that the stranger was an Altmer, a High Elf. He scrambled back on the stone bed as he approached, the stranger from one side and Bones from the other.

"Don't I what, Jim?" Bones demanded, looking around.

"Don't you see—?" he tried to ask, but he never got the chance. The stranger reached out his hand, and his fingertips brushed his face. A moment later he was staring at the stranger across the smoky blue temple… Bones seemed frozen like ice. "What did you do?" James demanded, looking up at Bones, still searching around the room for this stranger he apparently couldn't see… But as still as the face of the mountain.

"I did nothing," the High Elf answered. "There is no need to be alarmed. I merely provided an opportunity for us to speak in private."

"Who are you?"

"Who I am is unimportant, Dovahkiin," he said. "All that you need to know is that I am of an order of mages called the Psijic Order, and we have been unheard of in Skyrim for over a century. We still watch from a distance, safeguarding magic from those who would misuse it, and I have been watching you." At that, he tilted his head ever so slightly and looked at James.

James was momentarily at a loss for words. "This is what you call 'at a distance'?" he asked, motioning at the precious little distance that remained between them. He could, if he wanted, reach out and touch the Altmer's robes if he wished. But there was nothing he wished for less. "And what do I have to do with magic?" he demanded. He had never used magic himself, not once. So how could he misuse a thing he never once touched?

"Nothing," the stranger answered. "You have nothing to do with magic…" He seemed confused. At least, on that, they could relate. "But there is something focused upon you that is misusing it. You—" He paused, took a breath, and started again. "The day of your birth was a dark day for Skyrim. Things happened on that day that should not have. And now that we know you are _also_ the Dovahkiin, the Order believes that it cannot possibly be mere coincidence."

"I'm the _what_?" James interrupted before he could go any further.

"Dovahkiin," he said. "Dragonborn. A mortal body born with the blood and soul of a dragon. You alone have the ability to wipe a dragon from existence, the ability to quickly learn the dragon-language, and absorb a dragon's knowledge and life-force. You know this; your namesake Tiber Septim was also a Dragonborn." James found himself laughing, though he wasn't sure at what. "What do you find so amusing?" the stranger asked, his head tilting to one side again.

"I have no idea," James admitted, still chuckling. Just that it was so… impossible. "Please, go on."

The stranger, obviously nonplussed by James's cavalier attitude, took a deep breath and looked around. "The appearance of the dragons on the day of your birth, the death of your father, and your presence at this time and place—none of it was supposed to be this way. We have seen this; but we could not trace a common denominator until you emerged from your battle two days ago as the Dragonborn."

"Well, what am I supposed to do about it?" James asked.

"You are more capable than any other to do something about it," he said. "But this future is different from the one that should have been. I have no way of knowing how to correct it."

"So… you come to tell me that my whole life has been wrong, I need to fix it, but you have no idea how to do that," James recapped. "Did I get that right?"

"Your flippant attitude helps nothing," the Altmer pointed out. "But I believe it begins with your quest for Farengar."

"Oh, well, great. Thanks," James said sarcastically. The Altmer frowned at him, as though to say, _I'm doing the best that I can_. James sighed and shook his head. "So business as usual," James muttered.

"I suppose…" the Altmer said with a shrug. "Except now you are looking for something entirely different as well. How would you know you had found something except that you were looking for it?"

James shrugged. "I don't know. So on a quest for Farengar and…" He paused and looked around the frozen temple. "Come on, tell me your name. I can't do business with a person I don't even know the name of. What do you think this is? The Thieves Guild?"

The Altmer sighed and shook his head. "You are, indeed, stubborn. I will indulge you, if only because you are the Dragonborn. My name is Spock."

"Alright, then, Spock," James agreed. "I'm James."

"I know who you are," he assured him. "I must depart. It might be better for you if you did not tell anyone of our meeting."

The Altmer walked away and straight through the wall. As soon as he disappeared from vision behind the stones of the temple, the place was suddenly unfrozen, Bones' hand coming down full-force on his shoulder. "Don't I see what, Jim?" he demanded again, looking around.

James sighed and hunched over, gasping for breath. He felt as though he had just come up from a long dive or… or something like that. "I don't know…" James answered with a shake of his head. "I really have no idea."


	2. Pointy Ears

_Summary: You obviously don't have the aptitude for the Mage's College in Winterhold. So how about you go to Bleak Falls Barrow for me?_

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**Chapter Two : Pointy Ears**

James stood near the front door to the Temple of Kynareth, tying the belt around his waist and his new Whiterun armor. Bones watched from a distance, arms crossed and a decided pinch to his lips. "I don't know if going to Bleak Falls Barrow so soon is a good idea," he muttered as James slid his sword into his belt.

"You said I should have been able to go yesterday," James reminded. "Then changed your mind. How long do you want to keep Farengar waiting?"

"As long as I can," Bones answered, looking around the empty temple, save the other priest and priestess that lived and worked there alongside Bones. "But, if you insist, I can't keep you here. You're a free man. As far as that goes, anyway… I still think something's wrong with your mind."

"It's been two days," James sighed, remembering the Altmer that had appeared, apparently, only to him, and the excuses he'd tried to make up for him afterward. He hadn't heard from him again, and was beginning to wonder if the High Elf had actually been some kind of hallucination. "Besides, nothing happened yesterday and nothing's happened today."

"Right," Bones muttered. "I'll come with you," he added, slinging a satchel over his shoulder and stuffing three vials into it.

"Come with me where?" James scoffed.

"Dragonsreach," Bones answered. "Probably Bleak Falls Barrow, too. Have to make sure you don't kill yourself."

"Aren't you needed here?" James asked.

Bones looked around and laughed. "Yeah, definitely," he agreed, motioning at the four empty beds, one for each side of the shallow pool. "We're just overflowing. Danica can handle whatever comes this way, I'm sure." The priestess didn't even look up from her prayers at the altar.

James sighed and shrugged. "If I can't stop you…"

"Nope," Bones said, and followed James as he went out into the streets of Whiterun.

James felt like it had been near an eternity since he had seen the outside of the windowless temple. It was a bright, sunny day, as it usually was this time of year. The sky held a few wispy white clouds that ran from one side to the other and over the mountains, but rain was not promised in the sky by James's estimation.

The familiar cobbled streets had seemed labyrinthine to James when he first arrived here with his mother from Helgen after its destruction when he was very young. In the prior eighteen years, it had not been rebuilt. Most of the holds were too busy clinging desperately to the cities and villages they still had left with the onslaught of the dragons. If this wasn't the end of the world, as many prophesied, James didn't know what was.

It was a short walk from the Temple of Kynareth in the Wind District to Dragonsreach, though there was a long stair-climb still to go. James didn't admit that his legs were still weak and shaky as they stood under the boughs of the Gildergreen looking at the tall stairs that went all the way up to the bridge that spanned the pool outside of the grand house of their Jarl. It was the tallest building in all of Whiterun, nearly touching the clouds. The second highest point in Whiterun was Skyforge, the forge of the Companions. Though it was only a short walk away, James had never been there.

They went over the little stream that ran through Whiterun and down into the Plains District before finally letting out into the White River outside the walls. James had followed the river a short distance away from Whiterun, as far as his mother would let him go, when he was a child, but had not gone much farther than to allow him to just barely see Valtheim Towers in the mist of the waterfall that the structure loomed over. James heard that bandits had since moved into it.

He was so busy thinking about what awaited him in Dragonsreach that he almost didn't notice the strange looks he was getting from the guards and other townspeople. After a few of them skirted away quickly as he approached, James looked at Bones questioningly.

"Whiterun may be a city, but word travels around just as fast…" Bones commented. "I think every person within a days' ride has heard that you might be the Dragonborn."

"I see…" James said with a nod as they made for Dragonsreach. As usual, he ignored the guards talking, even though he was one, about their adventurous exploits as younger men, as well as Heimskr's droning on and on about the sins of Skyrim and its abandonment of their most precious god.

It wasn't that he had been abandoned, James thought, feeling his own amulet of Talos against his chest under his uniform. He knew Bones had one, too. In fact, many Nords still worshipped Talos even though it was against the law of the Aldmeri Dominion. James didn't know why, but had also never bothered to stop and listen to Heimskr, either.

Bones sighed as he looked up at the spires of Dragonsreach while they climbed the stairs. "What is it?" James asked, before remembering his better judgment.

Bones cast an angry glance at him before fixing his eyes back on the next step as they climbed up to the Cloud District. James hadn't known Bones well for very long, but scattered conversations and tidbits of gossip from around Whiterun had allowed James to piece together bits of information from Bones's and Farengar Secret-Fire's shared past. Farengar had apparently studied for some unspecified amount of time at the College of Winterhold, a place he never failed to mention to a newcomer with ears that worked. James could only assume that Bones had studied there, too, since his knowledge of restoration magic was greater than any in the near-area.

Farengar was ever so slightly younger than Bones, but both were perhaps around twenty years older than James. James always wondered if Bones might have wanted the court wizard position, but Farengar somehow managed to get it first or if was something else… James always wondered if Bones had a certain… "liking" for Irileth, the Jarl's Dunmer housecarl. But, Farengar didn't seem to be interested in anything of the sort, so it was anyone's guess why Bones and Farengar seemed to hate each other so much.

"Then why are you coming with me?" James wondered as they crossed the bridge to Dragonsreach.

Bones just grunted, and James grinned, reaching for the enormous door into the Jarl's residence.

Before he could reach it, though, it swung open quite suddenly and expelled a High Elf—Spock. James staggered back a few steps, almost running into Bones, as he watched the Altmer stride past, locking eyes with him warningly for only a moment before going on by… as though he didn't recognize him at all.

James halted a moment and turned to watch him, realizing that he was not wearing the robes he had seen him wearing two days ago. Instead, he was arrayed in the black and gold hooded robes of the Thalmor, agents of the Aldmeri Dominion. Not to mention that Altmer was younger… much younger. Perhaps it was not the same one, but… the eyes were the exact same. Bones watched the Altmer pass, too, pausing only long enough to mutter under his breath, "Pointy-eared bastards…" and turning back to the door.

When James didn't follow him, he looked over his shoulder at him. "Jim! You coming?"

James snapped back to the heavy wooden door of Dragonsreach and nodded, gulping in a breath of the fresh air outside before going in. "Yeah, I'm coming," he answered, taking one last glance over his shoulder to see Spock—at least, he thought it was him—disappearing out of sight down the stairs toward Whiterun. He might have been bound for the Bannered Mare, James guessed, the only inn in town, if the Jarl wasn't putting him up.

"Well, come on, then," Bones said, framed by the smoky blackness beyond the open door.

James followed Bones inside. As was the norm for houses anywhere in Skyrim, the interior of Dragonsreach was dark, even though Dragonsreach was perpetually lit by dozens of lamps and chandeliers and a long fire on a hearth in the center of the room. It was infinitely more spacious than any other house in Whiterun, rivaled in grandeur only by the Companions' mead hall, Jorrvaskr. The fires that kept it bright enough to see, however, also continually filled the place with smoke that attempted to escape through holes in the ceiling but, generally, the place was just as foggy as a mountaintop in winter.

It took a moment for James's eyes to adjust, but when they did, he saw the Jarl was not sitting upon his throne and was, in fact, nowhere to be seen. As such, neither was Irileth. Only the Jarl's steward, Proventus Avenicci, could be seen sitting at the table flipping through papers before him. He didn't give James or Bones a second look as they headed for the court wizard's usual station in the open room on the right side of the grand hall.

"Ah, there you are," Farengar said as soon as they came in through the door-less entry.

"As summoned," James said with a nod.

Farengar eyed Bones, muttering, "Yes, well, not quite," before looking back at James. "You know that I have been studying the dragons for a long time, yes?" he asked, and, when James nodded the affirmative, plunged right on ahead, much to Bones's dismay. "Well, it's a subject of great interest to many, as you might imagine. While scouring some ancient—well, look, the point is that I've discovered there might be an artifact that will be of great use to us in Bleak Falls Barrow: the Dragonstone."

"All right, then. Bleak Falls Barrow, Dragonstone," James said with a nod. "Anything else?"

"Down to business," Farengar said with a smile. "I like that."

"Jim," Bones muttered, clearing his throat. "Don't you think you ought to… you know, wonder what _else_ exactly might be in Bleak Falls Barrow? There has to be a reason Farengar isn't going himself," Bones pointed out. "It's only a hop, skip, and jump away from here."

"The short answer," Farengar snapped, glaring at Bones, "is that I don't know. And I don't care to know. I'm the _court wizard_ and there's not much reason for me to go gallivanting around the countryside looking for things when I could just as easily hire someone like James to do it for me."

"I see; so, how much are you paying him?" Bones wondered.

James sighed and rolled his eyes at their bickering, but was unable to get a word in edgewise.

"His reward will be appropriate, _if_ he can get the Dragonstone back to me," Farengar promised. "You agree to do this for me, don't you, James?" Farengar asked, then, purposefully ignoring any further objections Bones was offering.

"Yes," James agreed. He would have to explain to Bones later that it was in his best interest to have the court wizard in his debt, even if he didn't get paid as much as he might have wanted. "Sounds simple enough."

"Thank you," Farengar said with a nod, and James pulled Bones along behind him a moment later.

"Simple enough," Bones echoed sarcastically. "Yeah. One little scratch from a skeever and come down with Ataxia; see if you're so confident when you can't see straight and your hands are shaking." James just grinned and let him continue. "Draugr might pop out of a dark corner, cook us with some fiery dragon shout."

"Come on, Bones," James laughed. "It'll be an adventure."

"Adventure," Bones muttered. "Adventure is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence."

There was nothing for it, James thought, still laughing. Bleak Falls Barrow was, after all, a tomb. He couldn't think of a more silent or dark place…


	3. I'm a Priest

_Summary: You're crazy. And why didn't we just fast-travel?_

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**Chapter Three : I'm a Priest...**

"Are you out of your Nordic mind?" Bones wondered. For some reason James couldn't figure, Bones had followed him all the way to Riverwood. They stopped at the Riverwood Trader, where Bones stocked up on some wilderness alchemy ingredients that Arcadia stocked at twice the price, and then bought a few potions. James had assumed he would head back down the hill towards Whiterun after that.

But he hadn't. And now, here they were at the bottom of the steps leading up to Bleak Falls Barrow.

"You _can_ just go back to Whiterun, you know," James pointed out, starting to ascend the stairs, gripping the handle of the sword in his belt in case he had to draw it quickly.

"You are," Bones answered his own question, and pulled out his healing tome. "I don't know why I follow you around, sometimes…"

"It's not as though I asked you to," James pointed out. He looked up the stairs ahead at the enormous stone door that led into the tomb used by the ancient Nords to bury their dead. As a small child, James had nightmares about draugr creeping out of Bleak Falls Barrow, coming to attack Whiterun in the dead of night.

Fortunately, draugr didn't really wander beyond the confines of the tombs in which they were buried. James had never met a draugr himself, and doubted Bones had either… but how hard could they be to fend off? After all, they couldn't be _too_ strong after lying about in their tombs for who-knew-how-long, and their weapons had to have rusted away at least a little.

James started climbing the stairs, Bones at his heels muttering a prayer to each Divine in turn.

Just before James could reach the stone door and pull it open, Bones stopped him. "Hold on a minute, Jim," he ordered, holding his healing tome out in front of him and reading, his free hand glowing in swirling yellow light.

"Are you serious, Bones? We haven't even gone inside yet," James laughed.

"For good measure," Bones snapped. "Now shut up and let me… concentrate…" He became silent, focusing his eyes on the words of the page before him, and carefully, deliberately, turned it palm out and put it about an inch away from his chest.

James had to admit that it wouldn't have hurt anything, even though James was pretty sure he wasn't hurt. He could feel adrenaline begin to surge through his veins at the idea of going into Bleak Falls Barrow. He jerked in surprise when Bones closed his book and pulled out a second, instructing him once again to "wait just a minute."

"What are you doing…?" James sighed, and backed away when he saw a spell book he'd never seen in Bones's hands before.

"An Illusion spell," Bones answered. "I've been expanding my repertoire."

"All right, well, what's that?" James said with a nod at the page Bones was looking at.

Bones showed him the page even though it meant nothing to him. "Courage." James grinned at him in amusement as Bones explained, "I'm only a novice, so—what's so funny?"

"You want to use Courage on me?" James pointed out. "Don't you think that'd be a better spell to use on yourself?"

With a grunt of irritation, Bones stowed the book and motioned at the door. "Open the damn thing, let's get this over with."

"Whatever you say," James laughed, and went inside.

It was dank and dark and smelled musty, even though it was dry. The two of them were uncharacteristically quiet as they carefully moved inside, Bones making hardly any noise at all in his soft boots and James clunking along in his iron boots on the stone floor. There was a heavy feeling in the place, like it demanded reverence from all who entered… but James had the feeling that not all who entered had reverence in mind.

"Do you hear something?" James asked. The sound of stepping feet, from further in the barrow. They were careful, as though avoiding something, but taking no pains to be quiet. They probably thought they were alone.

"Yeah," Bones answered, whispering on, "I wasn't going to say anything seeing as I'm too cowardly to—"

"Sh," James hissed and made a motion for Bones to go to the side of the entrance. James followed him behind a pillar that stretched all the way up to the ceiling, still standing. Another two pillars further in were not as fortunate. Bones leaned back against the pillar and pulled his satchel around, both hands gripping it anxiously. "Tell me you're a novice in Destruction magic, too," James said.

Bones gave him a look of distaste. "I'm a priest, not a warrior. I've sworn never to hurt another being."

"Well, great," James agreed with a nod, pulling his sword loose from his belt. "I hope you don't mind if I do."

...

Sometimes Thalmor went through Riverwood, but apparently not very often. Definitely not without a group, and Spock was definitely by himself. Perhaps that would explain the strange looks he got. Or perhaps they were just hated. Spock had observed sometimes proud and outright hatred of the Altmer here in Skyrim, but didn't give it a second thought usually. Except that one Nord…

The strange Nord that had gone into Dragonsreach had looked at him, a look of dawning familiarity in his eyes. Perhaps surprise, as well. Spock couldn't be sure, but he _was_ sure that he had never in his life seen that Nord before. It had been intriguing enough that, when he reached the first landing of the stairs overlooking Whiterun that he had paused and made play that he was looking at the city, but he wasn't. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, after all. Whiterun was like any other Nord city: small, utterly bedraggled, and certainly not cultured by any means. Not by Altmer standards, anyway.

So he didn't look at the cities anymore. He looked past them and thought…

Usually his thoughts were not consumed so by a Nord for any reason, unless they were a Jarl. Politics exhausted him up here on the edge of the world, where barbarism somehow surpassed the sophistication Spock was accustomed to. They actually _valued_ it. And that baffled him.

But that Nord… He decided that he hadn't the time to wait around thinking about the man, since he was probably no one special. But, then again, "no one special" didn't usually go to visit Dragonsreach without a good reason. He probably had a good reason, but it was nothing to do with Spock. All of these were nothing to do with Spock.

He clamored down the rest of the stairs and headed for the Bannered Mare for a modest meal before heading to Riverwood and Bleak Falls Barrow. Farengar had tried to be obtuse about it, but Spock saw right through him. There was something important going on in that back-woods village just up the road, and Spock was determined to find out what it was. Something about Bleak Falls Barrow, specifically, had Farengar interested, but Riverwood as a whole had to be checked out.

Riverwood was a dull and tiring walk up from Whiterun. It wasn't as though Spock didn't have the stamina for it; he just didn't have the time for it. Sometimes he wished he could, by some sort of magical means, simply transport from one place to another, but that sort of thing was reserved for mages of greater skill than he.

He was one of no mean skill, of course. He would never brag about it, but he was one of the best Destruction and Alteration mages the Thalmor had stationed in Skyrim presently. He could take down a frost troll without a second thought, he was most sure. He had never met one. But he was, still, most sure.

Spock went into the Riverwood Trader, a humble little shop on the singular street that went through the town on the way to Whiterun, and asked to see his potions. The selection, he thought, was frustratingly small, and he told the trader this.

"Yes, well…" the trader rambled. "I've just sold three today. Two fellows going up to Bleak Falls Barrow, I think…"

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. "Two 'fellows'? How do you know what was where they were bound?"

"The younger one said as much," the trader answered, looking around for something. He reached under his counter and brought out a huge vial of healing potion. "I also have this," he offered, after consulting a tag wrapped around the neck of the bottle. "Potion of Vigorous Healing. Sixty-seven Septims, for you."

"Thank you," Spock agreed, though his mind was elsewhere as he dumped the requisite coins on the counter and wrapped his fingers around the vial. "What sort of potions did they purchase, out of curiosity?"

"Healing potions and… one of stamina, I believe…" he added, looking at the potions he had left carefully. "Not so rich as you, though," he added. "Took what smallest potions I had. I think one of them was a priest. They don't get paid much, I hear. The other was a guard of Whiterun."

"And they went to Bleak Falls Barrow?" Spock repeated, and the trader nodded, leaning on his counter and watching Spock think. Spock frowned at him, but tossed another golden Septim, anyway. He was in a generous mood. "Thank you. You've been most… helpful."

"Always willing to help," the trader piped, inspecting his newest gold coin.

Spock sighed, rolled his eyes, and went back out onto the street. It appeared there was no good way to the barrow from here except to go back across the bridge and climb the hill. He didn't consider himself very good at climbing, certainly not suited to Skyrim's rough terrain. But his boots were hard molded leather and made for the task. Spock supposed it would be worth it to see what was up there.


	4. Complexities

_Summary: This is no joke._

* * *

**Chapter Four : Complexities**

Bones shuffled along behind James, one finger slipped between the pages of his shiny yellow healing tome. He had, only a few moments ago, cursed his inability to muffle their steps, but James wasn't worried. The worst it might have been were bandits. James had dealt with bandits. He couldn't have called himself a proper guard of a hold like Whiterun and not met his fair share of them.

"Draugrs," Bones pointed out in a whisper. "It might be draugrs. Did you think of that?"

"What are you even doing here?" James rasped, whirling upon the priest. "You could have stayed in Riverwood. Did you ever think of that?"

Bones cleared his throat and shrugged. "Yes. Yes, I did. I'm just pointing out it could be draugr." He flipped his book open and shoved it in James's face. "See that right there?" His finger traced a line of text that James couldn't read. He peered over the top of the book at Bones. "Lesser Turn Undead. I've never gotten to try it. Not a lot of draugrs that wander into the temple, now, is there? Collette herself taught me the precise—"

"Shut up," James hissed a moment later, turning his back on Bones while he, apparently, got ready to cast his spell. But it wasn't a shambling step like James might have suspected from a draugr. It was more purposeful. More… from behind them. "Busy day in the tomb today, huh?" he whispered, motioning to Bones to get back behind the nearest shelter and wait.

Bones, grumbling, did as he was instructed, while James went back a few feet the way they'd come.

Certainly, someone was coming. He strained his ears to hear, but it was unmistakable. Someone was coming, and that someone was very sure about their own presence here. They didn't sound like bandit footsteps, for certain. Not shuffling, not… well, it just didn't sound like a bandit, and he couldn't explain it.

He pressed himself up against the wall and waited for whatever-it-was to show itself.

A moment later, it did. He walked straight through the opening from tunnel into the greater room beyond that he and Bones were hiding in: a Thalmor. James heard Bones hiss at the sight, and the Thalmor snapped to look in the direction of the noise, raising a hand that was already prepared to throw a ball of fire.

Well, Thalmor weren't thieves, James reasoned with himself, and stepped from his hiding place. He probably wouldn't kill them unless he saw their Talos amulets or… well, they didn't usually kill without half a reason. "Wait," he said, holding his hands out to show he only held a sword.

Bones popped up from behind his cover. "Are you crazy?"

"You," the Thalmor growled, whipping his hand down as the fire curling dangerously around his fingers dispelled. "You are the Nord from Whiterun who was going into Dragonsreach."

"You're the Altmer who was coming out of Dragonsreach. What about it?" And now that James was looking at him again, he was certain. It was Spock, though he looked a great deal younger than he had when he came to visit him from the Psijic Order. James didn't know what that meant and decided not to ask. Maybe they were… related somehow. "So, do you have a father in… some kind of mage order?" James wondered, trying to appear conversational.

"Stop trying to change the subject," the Altmer snapped before looking totally confused. "No," he added. "I do not, to my knowledge. But how is it that you've come to be here?"

"We walked. Idiot," Bones grumbled, coming to stand beside James.

"I do not find your jokes amusing," he warned. "Tell me and I may yet spare you."

"Spare us?" James repeated. "Why would you want to kill us? Do we look particularly dangerous to you?"

"You appear to be grave-robbers. I believe that the Jarl does not hold your kind in high esteem."

"You're kidding, right?" Bones laughed. "You saw us go _in_ to Dragonsreach. Isn't it a logical conclusion we might have been sent here? Seems pretty clear to me."

Spock looked somewhat impressed. "You are smarter than you appear. Him, I would believe," Spock agreed with a nod at James. "You? No. Unless the Jarl wished to be rid of you and thought this would be easier than throwing you into his dungeons for a few days."

"That's it," Bones growled, nodding at James. "All right, Jim. Let's go."

"Jim?" Spock repeated. "Is that your name, then? Jim?"

"Yeah," James answered. "James. This is Bones." Bones growled and James then decided to just… go with it. He wasn't sure why. He just had to. And if he was wrong, then he was wrong. Maybe they'd all laugh about it later. Except that James couldn't imagine laughing with an Altmer… Actually, he couldn't imagine an Altmer laughing, period. "Bones, this is Spock. Now that we're all acquainted…"

"Excuse me, but I believe we have yet to be introduced," Spock demanded.

"What—I just did!" James insisted. "I'm James; this is Bones; you're Spock. Or is the way we do things up here too… unsophisticated for you? Here, how about this…" James stood a bit straighter and took a mocking bow, adopting the more formal Imperial accent that his mother spoke in. "My name is James Tiberius Kirk, and this is my…follower…"

Bones interrupted. "Is this some kind of a joke?"

Spock glowered at James before saying sarcastically, "I'm sorry. The _complexities_ of Nordic pranks escape me."

James chuckled, and Bones whispered, "How do you know this guy, Jim?"

"I don't," James answered, spinning and heading back through the barrow toward his goal. _At least… not yet?_ He found it hard to believe that this fellow would one day end up in an ancient order of mages that hadn't been seen for over a century now… He cast a glance over his shoulder and found Bones and Spock both staring after him curiously. And standing right between them, glaring like an angry Giant, was the older Spock, the one in the Psijic Order.

...

In a moment, everything froze as it had before, Thalmor-Spock with his mouth open to speak. Psijic-Spock circled his younger self in their misty-blue surroundings, his brows furrowed in confusion and concentration. After taking a long, hard look at his Thalmor-Spock, Psijic-Spock looked at James.

"Fascinating."

"Not exactly the word I would use…" James muttered, looking around at the swirling blueness around him. The tunnel they were in was about to empty into another room that was lined with ancient Nord dead. "You're telling me you have no idea who this guy is? Because he sure looks like you. A younger you. Are you two related?"

"No," Psijic-Spock answered. "No, this is me."

"A younger you," James said.

"In the future," Psijic-Spock pointed out. "This is highly… unlikely."

"How?" James asked.

Not that he knew anything about that sort of thing. Not that he knew anything about Elves, magic, or secret orders. But the thought that not even this Spock, who could freeze time around them like a frost halting trees' growth, understood what was happening, admittedly frightened him. He shook that off immediately, and looked at Thalmor-Spock, as though incased in ice.

"I remember being this age," Psijic-Spock explained. "I remember it clearly as though it were yesterday." From the look of him, James doubted that very much. "But I do not remember you. I do not remember ever being in Skyrim."

"In the future," James pointed out. As far as he was concerned, that made anything possible.

"In _my_ past."

James hemmed and hawed for a few moments before falling back on Bones's old standby. "Look…" he sighed. "I'm a guard. Not a wizard."

Psijic-Spock was too busy stroking his chin thoughtfully to listen. "I cannot explain it," he decided finally. "From my perspective, we were supposed to never have met."

"That would have been fine with me," James admitted, looking at Thalmor-Spock, his jaw stuck open, probably attempting to spit out an objection to the last words James had uttered, in his perspective. James didn't remember what he'd said. "You weren't exactly a charmer in your younger days, were you?" he joked.

"This changes nothing," Psijic-Spock decided, completely ignoring James's last comment. "You must find out what has summoned the dragons early and possibly restore the timeline if you can. The end of your world and mine draws ever nearer at a time it was not supposed to happen. And I seem to be even more involved than I originally thought…"

"You're saying you don't remember any of this?" James asked.

"No," Psijic-Spock sighed. "Clearly more research is required. I will look into similar instances and—"

"Hold on just a minute," James demanded. "You're saying this has happened before?"

"Usually we try to keep wounds in time well-documented," Psijic-Spock explained. "For obvious reasons: no one remembers them."

James sighed and raked his hand through his hair. "You've got to be kidding me." At a look from Psijic-Spock, James couldn't help a laugh, and looked at Thalmor-Spock. They both had that same look when raising an eyebrow. Sort of mocking, sort of confused. "Wait. Let me guess. You don't kid."

Psijic-Spock shook his head disapprovingly. "This is not a joking matter, Dovahkiin."

"Good," James sighed. If this was a joke, it wasn't a very good one. Not to mention a lot of trouble to go to just for a laugh at his expense. "Because, if it is, the complexities of Altmer pranks escape me."


	5. Oh, Mighty Talos

_Summary: So... let's fight some draugr?_

* * *

**Chapter Five : Oh, Mighty Talos**

"Then perhaps you are some kind of spy," Thalmor-Spock demanded as soon as time returned to normal and Psijic-Spock had disappeared. "You have clearly been into our records."

"Come again?" How was he supposed to explain that he had had a totally separate conversation in the split-moment between the time he'd opened his mouth to speak and the words actually coming out? It would have been impossible. And then Spock might have accused him of being mad in addition to all that.

"Jim?" Bones scoffed. "A spy? He couldn't sneak past a sleeping Falmer with Muffle."

"How else would he know my name?" Spock challenged. "I have never seen you before in my life besides earlier today." James was about to continue walking away because he didn't know the answer to any of Spock's questions when the Thalmor leaped forward, seizing him by the arm. He was about to say something when he was interrupted.

"_Faas!_"

"Oh, mighty Talos," Bones swore, holding his tome up in front of him.

James shook Spock and his decidedly-Thalmor objections to Bones' choice of words, and ran from the tunnel to face the draugrs. There were three of them, undead warriors of old, hissing and rasping old words that James didn't understand. James was just about to wonder how to kill a thing that was already dead when his sword found a place in the first one's chest. It staggered back, just out of reach, so James turned to the next one.

Its jaw was hanging open, revealing a line of ancient teeth, and it gripped an ancient Nordic greatsword in both hands. It lifted and swung, and James did the same. The swords met with a mighty clang and scrape, as James's new sword stripped the older weapon of a scratch of rust. With a rush of strength, James kicked the dragur's greatsword to the floor and thrust his sword into it.

"_Fus ro dah!_"

James suddenly slammed into the wall beside him, dazed. "Ah! What the hell's this?" he gasped, looking down at his feet as they found themselves steady beneath him once he had crashed back down to the floor.

A moment later, Spock and Bones came out from the tunnel behind him, Bones shouting for the draugr coming near him to turn, which it did, straight into a cloud of fire coming from Spock's hand. It crumbled to the floor with a rasp, as its glowing blue eyes went dim, "_Ar vin ok_."

The remaining draugr, the one sporting a wound opened by James's sword, turned to Bones as commanded. He tilted his head and ambled toward Bones, raising his rusted battle-axe, and hissed, "_Sovngarde saraan_."

"Not today," Spock growled, his hand glowing green with some kind of Alteration spell. He laid his hand on the draugr's shoulder, and it collapsed, eyes darkening. Spock spun to James, ignoring that Bones was now cowering behind him. "Do you worship Talos, as well?"

"What about it?" James asked.

"Tiber Septim was a man!" Spock insisted. "Nothing more. And!" he added, looking at Bones, "I'm sure you are aware that Talos-worship is against the law."

"Look," James snapped. "I don't tell you to put down your tome. You don't tell me to put down my sword."

"Weaponry has nothing to do with this, and _neither_ is against the law. Your metaphor is meaningless."

"It's the two of us against one of you," James pointed out.

"I am far more powerful than either of you separate as well as both together."

"As much as I would love to see this continue," Bones broke in, "we have a job to do for the Jarl. So if you're going to kill us, then do it. Otherwise, you're wasting our time."

Spock sighed and seemed to consider the options. "I suppose, I could let you live in exchange for your assistance," he wondered. "There have been rumors about this place and the town of Riverwood that I have been sent to investigate and, as you might imagine, the townspeople are less than receptive. I only have so much gold for grudgingly-given trivia."

"We'll think about it. You can follow us around, if you want. Kill us if you like," James offered. "Or, at least, try." Spock smirked. "I don't like that look. Bones, do you like that look?"

"No," Bones answered. "Kind of smug and condescending."

"Bones doesn't like that look," James informed Spock.

"You two are the strangest Nords I have ever met," Spock informed him in turn.

James didn't know how to respond to that, so he thanked him, motioned for Bones to follow, and went further into the barrow. Spock followed, too. "You know," Bones commented as they descended down a hallway that creaked and groaned as though the earth itself were breathing. "I'm going to kill Farengar when we get back."

"What happened to that… you swore never to harm another being thing?" James asked.

"It's a flexible oath," Bones answered.

The barrow was long and winding and mostly silent except for James's inconsistent conversation with Bones. Spock was so silent James almost forgot that he was following them, though at a safe distance. They saw none of the thieves that James imagined were there, only the odd draugr, which they managed to slay with no problem with Spock's help. Until, that is, they reached the end of the barrow.

It was an impressive-looking room with vaulted ceilings and a huge stone coffin in the back near a decorative wall. They climbed the stairs slowly, James first, then followed by Bones and Spock. James stopped half-way up. "Do you guys hear that?"

"Hear what?" Bones asked, looking around as though he might see whatever was making that whispering sound in James's ears.

"Like whispering…" James whispered, and went up another couple of steps, his followers at his heels. It seemed to get louder as he moved closer to… to what? James looked at the tables flanking the stone coffin and the treasures arrayed on it. Nothing there looked like it might be making such a noise, but he stepped closer anyway.

"I do not recognize these arrangements offhand…" Spock commented, standing nearer the back wall.

James went to get a closer look and found that, as he neared the wall, the whispering got louder. Perhaps it was the wall that was whispering.

All at once, his vision blurred and he felt as though all the breath in his lungs had been knocked out of him. Chanting surrounded him and a loud shout, though at once a whisper, echoed in his head: _Fus._ He covered his ears, to no effect, and noticed that Spock had raised both of his hands, magic armed.

"Jim!" Bones yelped, as a huge draugr with a horned helmet and an insatiable hunger in its glowing eyes rose from the coffin, searching for the nearest target to hand the blade of his sword.

James turned toward it, sword drawn, but not before the ancient lord of his land had seen Bones was close enough. The rusted sword flew, magical ice chinking off the edge of the blade, and caught the priest from shoulder to hip, across the torso. James didn't have time to think about it as he surged forward with a battle-cry. The draugr seemed all-too-prepared for it, and deflected his blow to one side.

Spock crossed the floor, hand raised toward the draugr, and knelt beside Bones. James glanced over for only a moment to see blood spilling down the front of his robes as he slumped to the floor. Immediately turning his attention back to the draugr, James swung his sword again and again, once or twice managing a hit as Ice Spikes appeared straight through the draugr's torso at apparently random intervals, courtesy of Spock.

Just as James was wondering when the thing was going to give up and go back to sleep, it fell over backwards off the platform rather anti-climactically. James looked over the edge at it, just lying there, and ran to where Spock knelt beside Bones. James doubted if the wound was mortal, but those robes would never be quite the same.

Spock looked up at James. "We must get him to a priest as soon as possible."

James was just about to agree when Bones coughed and sputtered, looking down at his ruined robes before dropping his head back down on the stone floor. He spat out half a curse and then looked at Spock. "I don't need a priest, damn it; I am a priest."


	6. Riverwood

_Summary: I brought you a potion! So stop being paranoid._

* * *

**Chapter Six : Riverwood**

Even though it wasn't a long walk from Riverwood to Whiterun, James didn't want to risk trying to get Bones all the way back home with his injury. A healing potion, directly applied to the wound, did wonders for him, though, as well as Spock's hackneyed knowledge of Restoration magic. They managed to get him to Riverwood without incident. Spock put up for a room at the Sleeping Giant Inn.

"I'm fine!" Bones insisted for the millionth time.

"Shut up and lay down," James muttered. "I'm sick of dragging you around. We're not going all the way back to Whiterun today, anyway." Night was falling now, and James didn't like the idea of the little trek through the wilderness with wolves about, especially when one of his comrades smelled like blood and couldn't fend off an attack from a chicken even in the best of times.

Bones grudgingly lay down on the bed in the tiny room and looked down at his impressive wound. Impressive for a priest, anyway. "What did I tell you about adventure…?" Bones sighed and Spock appeared in the doorway.

"I have taken the liberty of mixing a few healing potions," he said, offering a bottle to James.

"An alchemist, too?" Bones wondered. "Well, what can't you do?"

"My knowledge is passable," Spock admitted. "Not as powerful as some potion you might buy from a true alchemist; however, the trader is closed for the night."

"It'll do," James assured him, popping the cork off of it and smelling the contents before handing it to Bones. "Won't it?"

Bones shrugged and gulped down the entire contents without even looking at it. James cringed when he did and tried to object, but it was too late. A spasm of coughing and wheezing seized Bones and, when he finally got his breath back, he glared at Spock. "Good gods, man, what did you put in that?"

"Blisterwort, eye of saber cat—"

"Stop," Bones interrupted. "I don't want to know. So how long is this supposed to—" Then he suddenly stopped and closed his eyes.

Spock smiled and James looked up at him questioningly. "What did you do to him?"

"Rock warbler egg," Spock explained. "Along with the blisterwort, it brings on a feeling of great fatigue. I did not think he would truly rest otherwise. I'm sure he will attribute it primarily to blood loss."

"And you're a novice?" James asked with a half-grin, standing.

"I do not ordinarily mix potions," Spock answered, standing aside so James could go out into the main room of the inn. "However, there was a time when my need of a potion to restore health was very great and I did not at first know the effects of rock warbler egg besides its healing properties…" he admitted as he closed the door behind him.

He stopped explaining then, and James wondered if the specifics of the tale were somewhat embarrassing. That was why James never touched an alchemist's table. It was too simple to accidentally kill oneself. He'd leave that to the more adventuresome fellows.

"Well… you paid for the room. Let me buy you a meal," James offered.

"I have no objections," Spock agreed and waited aside while James went to the cook.

"What'll you have?" the cook asked.

James had been here a few times before, thrice as a part of a guard detail. The food was good enough by his estimation, but there was no great distance between Whiterun and here so Riverwood wasn't as much in "the sticks" as other places. In addition, the Honningbrew Meadery was close, so the drink was often fresh and cheap.

"Two Honningbrews," James pondered, "and two sweetrolls."

The first to appear from beneath the counter was the mead, followed shortly by the sweetrolls. Spock took his and they went to a table to sit. He looked at his mead, as though unconvinced about something, and then at his sweetroll. "I have heard terrible stories of Nordic mead."

"Oh, come on," James laughed, taking a drink. "It's good." Even old-fashioned Nord mead was good, but Honningbrew was far and away better. He rarely drank Honningbrew mead, since it was often more expensive than he could afford on an ordinary day… But he felt like today was a good day to count his chickens before they hatched, what with Farengar's payment for the Dragonstone on the way. He looked down at Bones's satchel hanging at his side, the Dragonstone within.

Spock sighed and pulled apart his sweetroll before eating some of it. "I suppose I will find out," he said.

"So… why all the help?" James wondered once he had eaten half his roll and drank half his mead. Spock had matched him in the sweetroll, but had not even touched the mead. "Not every day a Thalmor and a Whiterun guard share a meal."

Spock shrugged, his eyes drifting down to the satchel. "I am just as interested in that as Farengar is."

"What is it, exactly?" James asked, pulling it out and putting it on the table. There was something written on one side, and a map of some sort on the other.

"I am not entirely sure," Spock said, "but I believe it is a map of dragon burial sites. This crisis that Skyrim faces now is not just any crisis. The dragons are not just 'coming back' as so many have been saying. I believe they have been coming back _to life_."

James stuffed some more sweetroll in his mouth before washing it down with some mead. There wasn't exactly much for him to say to that… Dead things walking around wasn't necessarily a sight unseen in Tamriel as far as James knew. But dead things actually coming alive again was another matter.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"I don't," Spock answered. "I told you that's what I believe is happening—excuse me!" He looked up quite suddenly at the inn's proprietor, a woman with blonde hair, as she tried to sweep under Spock's feet. James knew her name was Delphine, a somewhat hot-headed and strong-willed woman. She also had no liking for letters proclaiming undying affection, love stories, or even a song sung in her honor. James had tried all of these and had been as yet unsuccessful at even getting her to look at him. Unusual to say the least.

"I'm sorry," she said with a bow of her head. "I didn't mean to intrude. I was just sweeping."

Spock stood to look at her, looking down since he was a fair bit taller than she was. "You were eavesdropping."

"Come on, Spock," James snapped, standing up. "She was just sweeping."

"I was," Delphine agreed with a nod at James before looking at Spock. James might have expected any other person, man or woman, warrior or innkeeper, to be slightly perturbed by his commanding presence.

"You know nothing of this," Spock growled at James. "You are a common guard of Whiterun and no one of consequence. I know a spy when I see one…"

"Didn't you accuse me of being a spy earlier today? This 'no one of consequence'?" James reminded, reaching for his mead absently. "You just sound paranoid to me." He almost didn't notice that Delphine was now staring at him. Perhaps he'd finally made an impression? But when he smiled at her, she quickly looked away. Not shyly. Like she couldn't imagine he'd had the nerve to smile at her.

"I am not paranoid!" Spock insisted.

"Nothing wrong with being a little paranoid," Delphine pointed out demurely.

"I agree," Spock said with a slight nod at Delphine. "Slight paranoia may simply be attributed to vigilance by those with more common sense." With that, he offered a pointed look at James.

Since Delphine appeared to agree on this, James raised his mead as though in toast. "To paranoia, then," he said with a grin, and sat down. Spock looked from Delphine to James, and then seemed to remember where this whole conversation had started. He opened his mouth, perhaps to accuse Delphine of eavesdropping once again, when James interrupted, "Sit down, Spock. You're as much fun as a draugr guarding a treasure."

Spock slowly lowered himself down to his seat, glaring at Delphine. She moved away quickly to speak to the cook, then, and Spock seemed to relax a little. "I never claimed to be fun. But your definition of _fun_ seems to coincide with that of _reckless_."

"How do you figure?" James asked. "You've known me for half a day. And I haven't done anything reckless."

"Perhaps not," Spock agreed. "But not every Nord will share a meal with a Thalmor."

They ate and drank in silence then, until Spock tried the mead finally. James thought for a moment that Spock was going to die. After he had finished coughing and sputtering, and James had stopped laughing mostly, he looked at James accusingly. "You call that a drink?" he asked in disbelief.

"We do," James said, still laughing, as he rose. "Hang on a second; I'll get you a jug of milk." Spock obviously didn't appreciate that, but didn't stop him all the same.

Spock didn't drink the milk, either. James sat back down and finished off his mead before taking Spock's. Perhaps he should have planned it this way, he thought. Always offer to buy a Thalmor a mead. Not only would he get some little respect for being generous, but he would probably get an extra mead out of it to boot. On the other hand, that was the kind of trick he could only pull once.

"Might I accompany you back to Farengar?" Spock asked once his plate was empty.

"I don't see why not," James said with a shrug. "As long as you promise you won't kill us before we get there."

"I don't see why I would," Spock answered. "Besides, if I were to kill either of you, it would be Bones and it would be exceedingly simple now. He is… irritating. And obstinate."

James laughed a little at that. Obstinate—that was putting it lightly. On his better days, James supposed he might have counted Bones as merely pigheaded. "He is. But… our amulets don't mean anything to you?"

"No," Spock said after some consideration. "It is still against the law, yes. But there are bigger things at stake than which god you worship. I believe the Thalmor would be wise to remember that."

"Then you are a wise man," James offered, and rose. They left their plates with the cook and went their separate ways. James partially wondered where he was going when he headed outside into the dark night, but didn't ask. James went back to the room where Bones still laid unconscious.

It was a tiny room, but James supposed he had put down a bed in worse places. He reapplied some healing potion to the wound before lying down on the floor to sleep. It was dark in the room, but the light from the crackling fire outside showed in the cracks around the door.

With any luck, tomorrow he would be a richer man. Farengar would have his Dragonstone, and the dragons would be one step closer to annihilation.

On the other hand, he had not yet considered the possibility that were only whispered rumors at this point. Dragonborn. He didn't know what that meant, but it seemed important to some. Perhaps it was important to Farengar, since James couldn't imagine why else he would send him specifically on this trip. If this was a test, James had to wonder if he'd passed it. If it wasn't…

Well, he hoped he would be paid well in either case.


	7. A Journey of 7,000 Steps

_Summary: It's a long trip, so let's get going._

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**Chapter Seven : A Journey of 7,000 Steps...**

James had to be very careful to keep from cringing the entire time Jarl Balgruuf was arguing with his steward and brother. Not that he did not appreciate the interest he was getting from his Jarl—prior to now, he had been very much a nobody—but he did not want to cause so much trouble. They were arguing about whether or not he was the Dragonborn, whether or not that noise they heard upon the death of the dragon at the watchtower was the Greybeards summoning him, and whether or not he should be allowed to leave to pursue an education with them.

And all this time, James had said absolutely nothing. There had been no chance. And he couldn't just interrupt the Jarl, could he?

Finally, Jarl Balgruuf held his hand up and looked at James as though looking through him and into his soul. "You did hear the summons of the Greybeards from High Hrothgar, did you not?" he asked.

James nodded. At least, he thought he had. He didn't know what else he could have attributed that strange voice he'd heard afterward to.

"But so did we," Proventus pointed out. "That doesn't mean_ I'm_ the Dragonborn."

"If you were the Dragonborn," Hrongar, the Jarl's brother, scoffed, "I'd say the gods had a very strange sense of humor, indeed."

"That is beside the point!" Proventus objected.

"Proventus," Jarl Balgruuf interrupted. "Hrongar. Quiet. James, you will go to High Hrothgar and meet the Greybeards. If you are the Dragonborn, they will know. Either way, we need to investigate every possibility for defeating the dragons. Even James."

"This is highly irregular," Proventus said. "Jarl, you remember last month, the complaints your captain of the guard brought to you?" James felt color rising to his face. "Against this selfsame James Tiberius Kirk?"

"I can explain that and all charges were expunged," James reminded. It wasn't a big deal, anyway. Just having a little fun with the Companions… and Giants…

"Only by the Jarl's good will," Proventus pointed out.

"It doesn't matter now," the Jarl sighed, and suddenly James found himself locked in a glare of certain death from not only the Jarl, but also Irileth and Hrongar. "If he is not our problem, then the Greybeards may deal with him as they see fit. But, James, I'll ask you to remember that, if you are the Dragonborn, you have bigger responsibilities. When you joined the Whiterun guard, you had bigger responsibilities. Not just to yourself."

James nodded demurely as he was able. "I'll remember that."

"You'd best." The Jarl nodded. "A man only gets so many chances before luck runs out."

When the Jarl started talking to Irileth, James supposed that was a none-too-subtle hint that he was done talking to him. The impression was furthered when Farengar pulled him to one side and started talking. "If you are going to High Hrothgar, you had better be careful. I could give you some healing tomes that I have…"

"Bones will probably be going with me, thanks…" James muttered, thinking of the long trip to Ivarstead, the town on the other side of the mountain and really the only good way to get up to High Hrothgar. Even though, on a very clear day, denizens of Whiterun with very good eyes could just barely make out High Hrothgar on top of the mountain looming to the east, there was no good road to it on this side of the mountain. Farengar was right and it was probably dangerous… and much farther from home than James had ever been.

"I heard he was laid up in the temple," Farengar said.

"He is," James said. "But I don't have to leave immediately."

"It might not be a bad idea to bring that Thalmor fellow along with you."

"He will go where he wants. If it's with me, I guess I don't have any objections…"

"He's a powerful magician and very smart. If you're a fraction as smart, you'll listen to my advice. Bring him."

"He's a Thalmor. You're crazy if you think I can just order him around like a dog."

"A Thalmor and a scholar," Farengar corrected. "He and I have kindred spirits like that, I think. And don't think I wouldn't be going with you if I didn't have things to do here. Like study that Dragonstone. Did you take a look at it, by the way?"

"Only a glance, you know, when I was picking it up. It didn't mean anything to me."

"Hm. Well, hopefully I'll have some concrete information for you when you return. And you'll tell me everything you learn about the dragons when you return?"

James sighed and nodded. "Yes. I'll tell you everything."

"Exciting business…" Farengar said, his voice trailing away as he went back to his cove in the Jarl's house. "We may finally have a way to defeat the dragons. Now if only I could figure out _why_ they're coming back… So we can keep them there." By then, he was too far away and James couldn't hear him anymore.

He went outside as quickly as he could and down to the Wind District. He had left Bones in the temple as soon as he had arrived, and Spock went his merry own way to the Bannered Mare… or wherever he was going. James didn't watch and he didn't suspect he would see this Thalmor-Spock again. On the other hand, he had to remind himself that there was more going on around him than just dragons. There was also something about Spock, something that revolved around him, and the dragons, and the past. Perhaps even the future, too.

The Temple of Kyraneth was empty, as it usually was except for right after a battle with a dragon or the rare occasions when the Stormcloaks struck this far west. James supposed he might meet a few of them on his trip to Ivarstead, but probably not. As it was, the Stormcloaks were simply a few disgruntled rebels that hated the Aldmeri Dominion and anything that had to do with them. Since none of the other Jarls nor the High King had spoken up as to whether they supported the Imperials or not, the Stormcloaks were content to stay in their own little section of Skyrim, centered around Windhelm, and keep the Thalmor out.

James went right through the main room of the temple and into the little room that Bones shared with his fellow priests.

"Jim," Bones sighed when he walked in. "You've gotta break me out of this place."

"You're hurt," James laughed. "And you live here. I can't bust you out of your own home."

"They're treating me like a prisoner," Bones sighed and tried to sit, but groaned and lay back down. "They won't let me eat when I want, sit when I want—"

"Bones, that's your wound."

"No, it's not. It's that infernal concoction Danica slathered all over it when I got here. I walked, remember?"

"Um, no…" James admitted. "I don't. I do remember Spock and I taking turns dragging you along next to us while you complained the whole time." Bones swore darkly and fixed an angry expression on the ceiling when Danica came in from the main room.

"James," she accused. Danica didn't really like him and James couldn't figure why. Actually, if he thought about it, maybe he could. "Bones," she said, addressing the person she had apparently come to see in the first place. "There is a High Elf outside that wants to see you."

"A Thalmor?" James asked. Danica answered with a nod. "Let him in."

Danica didn't take his word for it, looking to Bones for confirmation. "Just let him in, Danica. You don't want an angry Thalmor on our hands, too, do you?"

Danica still didn't look convinced but opened the door and let Spock in anyway before leaving herself.

"I thought you'd left," James said.

"I had business to take care of," Spock answered cryptically before turning his attention to Bones. "How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," Bones spat. "Just fine. Did you talk to Farengar, Jim?"

"Yes," James answered. "And the Jarl."

"Oh, did he pay you, too?" Bones asked. "I want a cut, for future reference."

James laughed. "Well, I got this…" He pulled his new enchanted steel sword out of his belt. "Better than that old pigsticker I had…" He put down six Septims on the table beside Bones' bed. "Your share, I guess, since I sold it."

"Six Septims and a wound the size of my arm," Bones muttered, picking up one of the coins. "Great."

"Better than nothing."

They all stood in silence for a short time, and then James sighed. "Well, I'm heading out tomorrow for Ivarstead."

Spock nodded like he knew exactly what James was talking about, but Bones shot up like a mudcrab from a riverbank at approaching footsteps. Unfortunately, he forgot how much that would hurt. He leaned over his wound, groaning, "What are you talking about—Ivarstead?"

"Bones," James sighed, reaching out to push him back down on the bed.

"Don't touch me, Jim," Bones warned, and then took a deep breath. "Ivarstead is on the other side of the mountain."

"I know that," James answered. "But I need to go to High Hrothgar, and that's the only—"

"Shor's bones, Jim!" he interrupted again. "What in the world are you doing going up to—"

"High Hrothgar is where the Greybeards live," Spock explained. "They learn the way of the Voice, the language and power of the dragons. If he is, indeed, the Dragonborn, they will be able to teach him things vital to the future. His and Skyrim's." Bones groaned in pain again, but Spock was obviously thinking about other things. "Might I accompany you?"

James was about to shrug and wonder "why not" when he switched directions entirely and asked, "Why?"

"It is my job to determine the cause for the return of the dragons," Spock replied. "I have never taken a step closer to that goal outside of when we retrieved the Dragonstone. And now that you are going to High Hrothgar… the Greybeards may know more of my goal than I do."

"There are some people that think the Thalmor are behind their return…" James muttered.

"A misconception the Thalmor have neither the time nor inclination to correct," Spock answered. "I would be a worthy travel companion as my knowledge of magic far outstrips most others I have met in Skyrim. Also, I know of a place we may stop along the way and, since winter is coming, it may not be a poor idea."

Bones sighed heavily and growled, "He's right, Jim, you should take him with you."

James nodded absently. Spock made several good points, but he sounded desperate. "I don't know…" he said quietly.

"What other objection could you possibly have?" Spock demanded.

So he was desperate. Perhaps only time would tell exactly why… In the meantime, Farengar's advise and reasoning was plenty enough for James. He looked at Bones. "Do you want to come with us?"

Bones snorted and picked himself up off his bed carefully.

"I didn't necessarily mean right now," James muttered.

"Probably should get started," Bones pointed out, looking down at his wound, which was looking much better from just a few hours ago. He looked up at Jim. "I might throw up on you."


	8. Sign of the Warrior

_Due to unforeseen and unavoidable circumstances, neither computer nor internet capabilities have been available, taking me away from this precious story. Many apologies to any who have been reading it. Hopefully this situation will not be long-lived. Without further ado: the tale._

_Summary: What a lovely coincidence..._

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**Chapter Eight : Sign of the Warrior**

"Why did we take the southern route?" Bones complained. "It's damned freezing!"

James just laughed and pulled his hood of furs down over his eyes, looking to Spock. He had to be cold, too, but he didn't show it. Since he hadn't shown much of anything the whole time, James had concluded that Spock was not their usual Thalmor. Snow didn't make him shiver; jokes didn't make him laugh; James was beginning to wonder if a prick would make him bleed. It wouldn't have surprised him if he were immune to poison, as well.

"We should have stopped in Riverwood," Bones went on.

"And made little progress for our time," Spock pointed out. "Your complaining is insufferable."

"It's not exactly healthy, wandering around in the freezing cold, you know!" Bones pointed out, motioning at the snow that was falling all around them as they went up the path toward the ruined Helgen. "Sure would make me a lot happier if we had a warm place to stay tonight."

"Bones," James commented after he'd finished speaking. "You know, you have to be the _worst_ Nord I've ever met."

Bones just snarled and growled, rearranged his pack, and kept quiet for a while. If this was what the rest of the trip was going to be like, James regretted it already. They hadn't even yet passed the bend in the road where the Guardian Stones stood. James had come up here once, to see the Warrior Stone.

"Maybe we can stop and see the Standing Stones," he said before thinking.

"What for?" Bones grumbled.

"No reason…" James muttered. He did like to pay homage to the stone, he admitted inside. After all, the Warrior was his sign. He had heard stories of others born under the Warrior becoming stronger for a while after such a visit, and he liked to believe the same. "The Warrior is my sign," he added.

"Attributing traits and skills to the constellation that appeared at the time of one's birth is most illogical," Spock pointed out.

"Come on, Spock. Everyone knows their sign," James said with a light slug on the Altmer's shoulder. Spock raised an eyebrow at him in response. "I'd peg you for a—"

"Serpent," Bones interrupted. "You were probably born under the Serpent."

James grinned at that, but Spock didn't find it amusing. But he didn't seem to be angered by it, either. "I was going to say the Mage or Ritual," James offered.

Spock shook his head. "This conversation is pointless."

Pointless, maybe, James had to agree. But it was better than walking in silence. "What about you, Bones?"

"Apprentice," he answered.

"All right. Spock," James prodded. "Your turn."

Spock sighed and admitted, "I do not know. It seemed pointless trivia."

"Do you believe in destiny?" James asked.

Spock flat-out stopped walking and looked straight ahead. James looked, too, but saw nothing. "Is the answer to that question not irrelevant?" Spock answered. "If destiny is a thing to be changed, then it does not exist. If destiny does exist, then there is no changing it whether you believe in it or not."

James shrugged. "I guess you're right."

"Good luck arguing with an Altmer, Jim," Bones snickered. "Especially this one."

"What do you believe in, then?" James went on to ask. If Bones was entertained by this so-called argument, then he wasn't complaining. That was fine with James. "Logic?"

"As if logic is a thing to be believed in," Spock muttered.

"Meaning that's all there is," James revised. "And nothing else."

They had arrived at the Standing Stones now, strange pillars with holes in them and pictures etched on the front. The Warrior held an axe and a shield, and wore a horned helmet. All in all, the Warrior looked very different from James, but he still felt a kinship with the silent stone.

The three of them looked at each of the stones standing there, the Warrior alongside the Thief and the Mage. "Go on, Spock. Touch the Mage stone," James prodded.

Spock looked at James and then at the stone. "I do not see the—"

"Just get it over with so we can be on our way," Bones muttered, starting up the path away from them toward Helgen.

Spock went to the Mage stone and laid the tips of his fingers in the etching of the hood of the wizard on it. He stared at it for a moment, then spun and followed Bones up the hill. James went after him.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

Spock considered for a moment and then said, "I do not understand the question."

"It's not that hard a question!" James laughed. "Bones! How do you feel?"

"What kind of a question is that?" Bones snapped. When James insisted he simply answer the question, Bones growled and shook his head as he plodded ahead. "I feel like I'm gonna commit a crime we'll both regret once I get feeling back in my fingers."

"You do not understand…" Spock sighed. "I have spent the last eighteen years in a…" He paused, took a breath, and started again. "I'd been living…" He hesitated again.

"Spit it out," Bones snapped. He'd hung back to walk with them again. "Did you live with a gang of sweetroll thieves or something?"

"No," Spock answered. "I could explain my entire life's story to you, but I don't see—"

"What else do we have to do?" Bones asked.

James tried to hide a laugh with a nod. It was quite true; there was precious little to do between here and Ivarstead besides concentrating on how cold they were. Hearing the life's story of an Altmer, however boring, just might have been diverting enough to distract them from the snow falling on their heads.

"Go ahead," James said. "Like Bones said: we don't have anything else to do. Then Jim can tell us about some of his riveting conquests." James shot Bones a pointed look for that, but he wasn't paying attention.

Spock sighed, as though that was a thing he, in fact, least wanted to do. But he started talking anyway. "Eighteen years ago, I was discovered on the mountain you call the Throat of the World. Odd circumstances was said to have surrounded my appearance, such as a lightning storm on the mountain top and the roar of the first dragon to have attacked Skyrim in the battle we currently wage. I was barely alive, but the Greybeards took me in and found people to take care of me and restore my heath. Since I remembered nothing about how I got there or any of my life before, I was 'adopted' in a sense by a couple living at the foot of the mountain, despite the general consensus that I must be nearing one-hundred years old."

Bones muttered something to himself that James couldn't quite make out. Spock gave him a pointed glare for it, but continued.

"They live in a community of the worshippers of Julianos, the god of wisdom and logic, on a mountain not far from Ivarstead. I was brought up with their beliefs, in a way, since my life seems to have only begun when I awoke in their house. Out of gratitude, I respected their beliefs, but soon came to take them as my own. Their sect of worshippers believes in the purging of all emotion, relying solely on logic as a guide."

"Well," Bones said after a pause. "Isn't that… interesting."

"You don't know where you came from at all?" James asked.

"I do not," Spock answered. "My life, for all intents and purposes, began eighteen years ago. I do not remember anything before that."

They were all quiet for a while, and James took to watching the snow fly by as they hiked up into the mountains past the ruins of Helgen. James looked up at the falling walls around the outside, long ago looted of anything valuable by bandits after it was destroyed by a dragon. He couldn't remember living here, couldn't remember a time when it wasn't in shambles. His father had died here… He supposed, somewhere amidst the piles of forgotten rubble there was a skeleton armed with a sword and wearing an amulet of Talos.

Eighteen years was a long time to sleep in the open air…

"Eighteen years?" James realized. "You've been in Skyrim eighteen years?"

"Yes," Spock said. "Eighteen years."

"Me, too!" James exclaimed. "I mean, I was born eighteen years ago."

"How coincidental," Spock deadpanned.

He didn't sound as interested in that fact as James was, and James wasn't sure why it was interesting anyway. But it was. For some reason. No point in talking about that now. "So…" he said conversationally. "You're not under the Mage, then."


	9. Home

_Summary: Home is where the... um... logic is._

_Hawkclaw27; I am happy to hear you are enjoying it! It is a little odd, I'll grant. It just seemed really fun to me at the time... all the trouble these characters could possibly get themselves into. Plus, I enjoy imagining an irritated Bones tramping through the snow muttering to himself. I hope you continue to enjoy it and thank you so much for reading!_

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**Chapter Nine : Home **

It was awkward, to say the least. They were going so near the place Spock's family lived, Bones had all but insisted that they stay there a night instead of in the wilderness. Even though both James and Spock had objected, here they were: meeting an Altmer's Breton family in the land of the Nords.

They were rugged people, James had to give them that, skilled in alchemy and magic even if they weren't skilled in construction. They lived in shacks, except for one stone building that they had set up as a temple to Julianos. Their entrance to the town—though it was hardly worth calling it a town—did not go unnoticed by the people that lived there.

There were perhaps fifteen people, all crammed into five shacks the size of the little room that Bones lived in with the other priests of Kynareth. James thought he saw Spock cringe when one woman in particular ran down from a little garden shouting his name. She seemed rather more excited than the others; she was smiling, and the others were simply watching with no expressions whatsoever.

"Mother—please," Spock sighed once she'd reached him and enveloped him in a hug. He realized a moment later that his begging was doing no good. He looked at James. "This is Amanda; she had a hand in nursing me back to health when I was sick and injured… a skilled Restoration Mage."

"Really?" Bones sounded interested.

"Not all that, really," Amanda demurred.

"I'm James," James offered. "My friend, Bones. He also studies Restoration."

"But I'm a priest of Kynareth," Bones offered. "I don't think I could keep my sarcasm at bay for very long."

"Amanda does not ascribe to the teachings of Sarek as much as the others," Spock sighed. "Which is ironic," he added, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. "Considering he married you in spite of it."

"Emotions are a part of marriage, Spock," Amanda said with a smile. "Perhaps one day, when you're married, you'll remember that."

"That does not explain the other couples that live here, follow the teachings of Julianos, and still lead productive lives."

Another man had walked up, clad in dark robes and a hood that looked somewhat like Thalmor robes only less fancy, at first glance. It soon became obvious, however, that these were the simplest of robes, only black, tied by a rope. "Spock," he said with a nod of greeting.

"Sarek," Amanda said with a smile, reaching out a hand for him. He took it in his hand, but beheld his visitors with little emotion and looked at Spock with the same. Amanda brushed her hand down Spock's Thalmor robe. "What brings you all the way down here, Spock? We haven't seen you for… a very long time."

"I know," Spock said with a nod. "I apologize, but I have been busy. James, here, is quite possibly the new Dragonborn and I am escorting him to High Hrothgar where he will receive training in the way of the Voice."

"I'm so glad you could visit, then!" Amanda said then, smiling at all of them. "You must stay here over night. Are you hungry? My venison stew is almost done." She walked off, waving them along to follow, and they did. James doubted very much that anything went on in this little berg without Amanda's say-so, whether she had "purged all emotions" or not.

James watched all the village's people warily, even as they watched him. There were, perhaps, two warriors in the bunch: strong men with swords hanging from their belts. Most of the people in the village were Breton, including Amanda. The only exception was the High Elf Sarek, and, James found once they entered Amanda and Sarek's shack, a Dark Elf.

Spock flat-out stopped walking right in the middle of the doorway when he saw her. James had to push past him, not missing the opportunity to whisper over Spock's shoulder clandestinely, "What was that about ascribing to the teachings of Sarek, Spock?"

Spock glared at him for a moment, following his lead into the house.

"Nyota," Amanda said warmly when they came in. "We have guests."

The Dunmer looked up and smiled a bit back. James could see that she had a fresh scar on the side of her face and, when she turned to face them, she favored her left side. Her features, however, were quite soft for a Dunmer… on the other hand, James had only met a handful of them. She just nodded at them, still smiling, but as though it was painful to do so.

"I'm James," he offered immediately. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she answered, looking back to the pot of stew she had been standing over.

"This is Spock," Amanda went on, "my son."

Nyota looked at him curiously when she said that, as though trying to figure how they might possibly be related. James looked back over his shoulder and grinned when Spock finally found his tongue again. "Adopted," he explained. "This is Bones," he offered, and sat down in the nearest chair available.

"Nyota came to us a few weeks ago…" Amanda explained. "She was dreadfully injured—"

"But I'm fine now," she added hastily. "A hunting trip in the mountains gone bad. I should be heading back out soon, though. Your hospitality has been greatly appreciated. I don't know how I could ever repay you."

Amanda waved that notion away like it was some bit of dust flying in the air. "Oh, please. There's no need." She leaned over the stew and inhaled, smiling contentedly. "It smells divine, Nyota. Please, sit with our guests. Spock, could you help me?"

Spock sat, dumbstruck, for a few moments before nodding and rising. "Of course…" he muttered, going to Amanda's side where she handed him a stack of wooden bowls.

As Amanda ladled out the soup, Nyota stumbled to a chair at a small table, one hand over her torso. Bones watched her critically. "I realize you've been in the care of a skilled healer, but I'm not too shabby myself. Do you mind if I…"

"I'm fine, thank you," Nyota assured him.

"Oh, come, Nyota," Amanda prodded. "I'm sure he's a far better mage than I. I really only dabble, really," she added as though embarrassed, looking at Bones. "My mother was a priestess in Solitude."

Bones smiled at her. "I'm sure you've done a fine job." Nyota looked at Bones warily as she went next to him. She stood there, unsure, for a moment, when Bones said, "Nothing I've not seen before." She pulled at her shirt to show him scratches that wrapped from her back around her torso. He cringed, leaving James to wonder if he did so because it looked like it had hurt or like it hadn't been healing well. "Where in Oblivion did you get these?" he whistled, pulling out one of his more heavy-duty restoration tomes.

"Hunting trip," Nyota said again.

James frowned at that, and noticed that her side-stepping the question didn't go unnoticed by Spock, either. He kept quiet about it, though, and handed James a wooden bowl filled with venison stew. James thought he had never smelled anything so good in his life, and then remembered that he would think that of almost anything after being subjected to Bones' cooking for a few days.

They ate dinner in relative silence, except that James, Bones, and Amanda made sporadic conversation despite Spock, Sarek, and Nyota all sitting there eating stew like they were some kind of stone statues. Interesting conversation it was, too, James thought. Maybe. He hadn't been listening to most of it, but Bones seemed intrigued. It seemed that this sect of Julianos-worshippers utilized a special kind of soul gem that would capture the essence of a person when they died, or something, and then they kept it in a box in their temple. Called it the Ark of Soul Gems.

Something like that.

James stood up with his empty bowl. "This was delicious, Amanda. Thank you very much."

Bones looked up at James and then down at his half-empty bowl. "I swear you eat like a boar. Where's your decorum, man?"

Spock moved some bits of venison around in his own bowl, muttering, "Does he know the meaning of the word?"

"Spock!" Amanda scolded, but smiled a little nonetheless. James had to admit that it was funny, too, seeing as something like that might have been considered emotion-driven. And it didn't matter anyway. "James, let me show you to the storage room. You can sleep there."

"Mother, I do not think—"

"Spock, I won't have them going to the inn down the road," Amanda interrupted before he got too far with his thought. "It's too far and they'll have to back-track quite a bit to get to Ivarstead. Speaking of which," she added, "Spock, Nyota has been using the room that used to be yours."

"I prefer to sleep under the stars, anyhow," Spock said, standing.

"You're crazy," Bones muttered. "If you have an extra shelf in that storage room, ma'am…"

"Of course," Amanda said with a smile. "Spock, you do know it's snowing?"

Spock gave her a pointed look, ignored Nyota's offer that she could leave tonight, flipped up his black hood, and went outside. Amanda sighed.

"So…" James wondered with a slight smile. "He's always like that."

Amanda smiled a little, too. "Yes. Yes, he is."


	10. Prime Directive

_Summary: Leaving it to Spock to ignore all the most important rules..._

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**Chapter Ten : Prime Directive**

Ivarstead was a quiet little berg at the foot of the mountain that looked like Riverwood, except, perhaps, a bit smaller. Ivarstead had a few houses and a farm, no shops, and two bridges, and the requisite crazy-person. They all did their best to ignore him as they looked for a place to stay. If they headed straight up the mountain, Bones guessed that it might be well into dark before they arrived at High Hrothgar and who wanted to be climbing a mountain and fighting trolls in the dark?

Certainly not Bones, that was for certain.

Even tougher, James thought was finding a place for three strangers to stay the night in a small town with no room in the singular inn.

"We could always stay outside," Spock suggested.

All right, _two_ strangers. "I don't want to stay outside," James muttered, looking up at a sky that in no way promised snow, but also didn't guarantee against it by any means. "You're the only person I know of that will willingly stay out under the stars when there is a perfectly warm hearth fire a few feet away."

"In other words," Bones spoke up, "you're insane."

"I am insane?" Spock repeated, definitely bordering on irritation. "Today alone the two of you managed to enrage a troll (which I had to kill), attract a horde of bandits (which I also had to kill), and wade into the river after some betties when you know that can be the death of you in winter. And I am the insane one?"

"It wasn't a betty, it was a salmon; and you're welcome for lunch, by the way," James grumbled.

"Regardless," Spock announced, but didn't offer any further reasoning.

The three of them stood in silence for a bit at the corner of a fence, watching some of the townspeople watch them and pretend to go about their farming. There wasn't very much for them to do at all, in fact, except either stand there in the weirdest trio Skyrim had ever seen: an Altmer and two Nords. Perhaps a group that never should have been together if destiny had anything to do with it.

Bones leaned over toward James and whispered, "Maybe we could sneak in someplace after dark."

"We can't just sleep in an owned bed. There's just something… wrong about it," James said, looking at the mill not very far from them. "What about there?"

Bones made a face at it until James waved them to follow him behind the farmhouse. When the two of them were standing close enough, he leaned in and whispered, "Do we spend the night in the lumber mill or in the main hall of the inn?"

Bones looked at the two. "Around a bunch of smelly men?" he asked, and grimaced.

"It is a Nord trait; I thought you might have been used to it," Spock mumbled.

"You're no bouquet of flowers yourself," Bones pointed out.

"Would you two be quiet!" James asked. "I can't believe I'm quieter than the two of you." He looked around for any other option that presented itself. There was a cave a short way down the river, but James was willing to bet a week's wages that a bear currently occupied it. Inspiration suddenly struck when a hen clucked by their feet. Perhaps there was a barn or stable they could stay in?

He glanced around quickly for a stable, hoping there was one. If nothing else, perhaps they could stay in the chicken shed… He doubted Bones would like that. "I have an idea," James whispered.

"Jim!" Bones rasped urgently. James turned to look at him and hushed him, but to little effect. "Jim, he killed a chicken," Bones said, motioning helplessly at a hen that had, only a few moments ago, been clucking harmlessly nearby. She was now impaled with a magical spike of ice.

"Spock!" James shouted before looking to Bones. "Bones, are you sure?"

"It would have given away our position," Spock explained before Bones could relate the time of death. "You seemed intent on our secrecy."

"That's rule number one of Skyrim, Spock! You don't kill another man's chicken!" Kirk knelt beside the hen sprawled on the dirt pathway and gingerly poked its feathers.

Spock looked either confused or unimpressed as he arched one eyebrow. "Would not a better prime directive be the non-interference of other cultures, considering the long genocidal history of Skyrim? What with the Snow Elves and…"

"Yeah, you tell that to the Aldmeri Dominion," James spat, poking the chicken again. "Ysgramor didn't go around killing innocent chickens. Come on, little chicken," he said coaxingly, ignoring Spock when he rolled his eyes. "Come on. Don't be dead."

"Fascinating…" Spock mumbled.

"Jim," Bones said, but James ignored him. This chicken, he pled with the Divines, could simply not be dead. "Jim. Jim, she's dead."

James sprang up to his feet and whirled upon Spock. "You don't kill chickens, Spock!"

"Clearly, my attempts to assist in our remaining unseen have been for naught anyway, since you seem intent on making a scene over a dead chicken," Spock said back, gesturing emphatically at the ice-picked chicken.

James clapped his hand over Spock's mouth, lest anyone hear he had murdered a chicken in cold blood. There might have been witnesses anyway, but if not… they didn't really want to take that chance. "Don't… say another word…" he whispered, and then motioned to Bones. He carefully removed his hand, and looked up and Spock, who glared down at him in surprise and shock. "Let's go."

James and Bones hurried down the road onto the bridge at the edge of town and up the mountain, Spock following closely behind them. Just as they were turning a switchback up the mountain, a loud wail came from the town. Spock's crime had been discovered. "I could simply pay the fine," Spock suggested, running to catch up with James and Bones who were now running.

"Yeah, or they might try to kill you," James offered.

"Kill me?" Spock repeated. "It's a chicken."

"This is Skyrim. People have been killed for less."

Spock suddenly halted. "There is something less than killing a chicken? Let me guess: assault?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Spock," James laughed, sprinting up the mountain when he heard the irate townsfolk running after them. "Of course, it is."


End file.
